I like making dinner because I can make it however I want, and then it's easier for me to eat, and it's just good all around. And okay, I don't wanna sound egotistical or anything, but when I'm on point, I'm on point, ya feel? It's true, a lot of the time I burn things, or forget ingredients, or do other weird things, but when I don't do any of that, my culinary creations are true masterpieces. That was so today. I made a pasta primavera with coconut cream and ginger and lime, mixed with steamed mixed vegetables and served with roasted lemon-garlic chicken (it should have been lime to go with the pasta, but we didn't have enough limes), and it was really amazing. I marinated the chicken for a few hours before roasting it, so the flavor soaked in nicely, and I got that perfect al dente texture to my pasta. Really, I was very proud. And I feel like it's pretty healthy, because I didn't use a cream sauce or anything, and I put in a lot of vegetables (cooked nicely and without lots of oil), so I feel proud of that too! Now I just need to learn how to cook brown rice, and I'll be in the business.

Xander left for school today. It was sort of sad, because I like having him here, but I'm also happy for him. He's moving on to a new adventure now, and it's so exciting! (And he gets to leave this hellhole house, and that can't hurt) I'm just sad that I didn't get him to buy me any more alcohol before he left. My supply is running dangerously low. It's a little weird to have him going to USC and me going to UCLA, because we're supposed to be rivals and all that, but this way there will be alumni of both schools in our family, so it will help everyone with admissions no matter which route they take. (but UCLA is better though)

Today was Sunday, and I was really proud of myself because I did not spiral into a depressive episode and lie on the couch unable to move because of my abject misery. And I think that really shows some personal growth, don't you? I even taught some students, and I think I did a real swell job. A+ me, good going. After that, Mom and Anselm and I went shopping, and I got this darling little pink-and-white polka dotted throw, which really was something of a highlight of my day. That goes to show exactly how banal my life is, but at least I can take pleasure in the simple things. That ought to be worth something, right?

Okay, now I'm really mad because I read a stupid article on Tumblr about how racial stereotypes exist for a reason, and we shouldn't look too deeply into the criticism of popular media because it's Just How Things Are, and they're so wrong that I can't stand it. I hate how Asians are treated by the mass media, and I refuse to accept some ass-backward white person opinion about How Things Are because they don't know, and I'm not one for Complete Objective Truth, but I'm advocating it now, because the systematic oppression of an entire race of people, and the aiding and abetting of this travesty by the selfsame people who call themselves proponents of social justice is not a good thing and can never be a good thing no matter how prettily they may try to frame it. And I'm just a girl at a computer screen; what can I possibly do about any of it? They're going to continue on in their merry and casually racist ways, patting themselves on the back for Enjoying Diversity, and there's nothing I can do to stop them. I can feel it like a fire under my skin, all the things I want to do and want to accomplish, and times like these, it burns so hot it's almost unbearable. I can't do anything, and it's so frustrating, and I want to go out and lead rallies and build barricades and shout down authority, but all I can do is sit here and be enraged. If someone put a torch in my hand right now, I believe I would take to the streets this very minute, doing my own part to overthrow the establishment that has held us in its miserable and misbegotten sway for so long, and if someone came up to me and asked me to fly to Washington to lead a protest, I would ask to be front and center, directly in the first line of fire, ready to die in my passion for a world that doesn't care. But all I have is me, and I want to explode. As you can see, it doesn't take much for me to work myself up into a proper indignation. Isn't that silly? Oh, but it's not, it's not. The world needs to be changed, and I think I was born to do my part in helping it happen. But I can't, not right now, and that's more exasperating than I can say. What wouldn't I give for a voice to reach the people? All I want to do is fight.